You don’t expect anything interesting to happen in your 10 a.m. lecture. Same professor, same slideshow, same stale classroom air.

But halfway through, the girl behind you leans forward and taps your shoulder like she can’t hold this in another second.

“Did you hear? He’s back.”

You blink at her. “Who?”

She raises her brows, almost offended. “Brooks Carter. Hello? Campus trash? Biggest player on campus? Ringing any bells?”

Your brain stalls. Then you vaguely recall the name—the guy everyone whispered about last year. You’d never met him, never cared enough to look him up, but the stories were impossible to escape.

Different girl every week. Caught with two girls in a dorm room. Got banned from two sorority houses. Rumored to have a “rotation.”

You’d always assumed it was… dramatized. College gossip didn’t exactly have a high accuracy rate.

Still, hearing it all again makes your eyebrows lift. “He sounds… busy.”

She snorts. “Busy ruining people’s lives.”

And that’s that. Class continues, but your focus doesn’t.

Campus trash is back.

Great.

When lecture ends, you pack up and head across the quad, letting yourself forget about it—until you see a small wave of attention ripple through the courtyard.

You look up.

And there he is.

Brooks Carter.

You know it’s him instantly, even without the whispers. He’s impossible to miss—tall, good looking, hair messy in a way that looks deliberate, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants like the world is his living room. He walks like someone who’s used to people watching him. Not arrogant—just… comfortable in his own popularity.

A couple guys slap his back, greeting him like an old friend. A group of girls nearby break into hushed giggles. Someone calls out, “Yo, Carter! Back already?”

He grins—easy, effortless, charming in a way that makes you understand exactly how the rumors took off.

But he doesn’t stop to soak in the attention. He doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t scan for new victims to add to his supposed weekly lineup.

He just laughs at something one of his friends says and adjusts the strap of his backpack, looking—annoyingly—normal. Cool. Chill. A guy who could walk into any room and have it bend a little in his direction.